“So, do you have any goals for 42?” my wife asked me over dinner. She and my daughter had taken me out to celebrate the day of my birth, some 42 years ago. Forty-two is an odd, neither-here-nor-there age.

Basically, the only thing that happens when you turn 42 is boring, mundane stuff — you take up eating barbecue potato chips; you have conversations about mutual fund expense ratios and you start to ponder deep, universal questions like: Why do we have concrete AND asphalt roads?

I’m sorry our cold isn’t really cold, but the fact is, I’m still cold, and I’m not sorry about that.

This is the lament of a Floridian every winter. How we poor, wretched, warmth-deprived beings have to fear how our commentary on the temperature will be taken the wrong way if mentioned in the wrong company.

Know what I’m talking about? Happened to mention to a visitor from up north how you feel about our weather — even casually. “How am I doing? Well, it’s cold enough outside to freeze the freckles right off my body!,” I will say.

My daughter and I will have to come to terms with something pretty soon. For her, she will have to understand that for much of her life I’ve been mostly letting her win at games, or at least giving her a fair chance. Parents do that, right? Don’t want to discourage their children, so they let off the gas. Give them a shot. Feign exasperation as they’re completely dismantled by their little one. It happens.

But me, I will have to come to terms with the fact that she’s 9 years old now and none of that matters anymore. Those days are gone.

It took me a moment. Or a few. It always does. We had walked down to the churchyard to knock the soccer ball around. That was the promise from my daughter. The plan.

“Want to kick the soccer ball?” I distinctly remember her asking. She knows I’m a sucker for it. Like an overly excited dog who learns he’s going to the beach. “YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! Oh no, I just wet myself.”

She got a World Cup replica ball for Christmas — a swerving wave of color that screams, “kick the stitches out of me, will ya?”

It’s like the flu. Spreading. Overcoming. Pummeling us into some sloth-like state where we slump around, dragging ourselves out of bed each morning and answering every question with a mopey, “I don’t care!”

“Here’s that $1 million you won in the lottery.”

“Nope! I don’t care!”

It’s the January blues.

Got ‘em? Feel em? Hard not to when the holidays are over, the weather’s turned cold, gray and gloomy, and your credit card melted from overuse.

A high tech runner? Oh no. Now I’m one of those people. I’m not even sure who those people are. But I’ve always thought I wasn’t one of them.

You know, the type who is totally plugged in while exercising. Music playing. Incoming texts beeping. Their GPS always mapping. The latte machine strapped to their back foaming. The ones who couldn’t free themselves from technology for five minutes. Had to take it with them wherever they went. Even to exercise.

I’ve never been big on New Year’s resolutions. Never believed in them. Never thought they were worth making. Yet, as 2015 approached, I found myself resolving to make big changes in the New Year. Big ones! So, I thought I would share my list in hopes it might also help loyal readers like you as we embark on this brave New Year.